The Gilded Crown by Catherine A. Wilson Page A

were four men Cécile held dear in her life. Her papa and hunchbacked brother maintained their rightful place in her heart as father and sibling. Then there was Armand-Amanieu d’Albret. Having shared an entire childhood believing he was her cousin, she’d granted him a whole corner to himself. But it was not the same passion she felt for Armand’s paternal cousin, Ghillebert d’Albret, better known in the north of France as Gillet de Bellegarde. This man owned her very soul.
    She smirked up at her husband and took the red ribbon. ‘Then I shall weave one colour in each plait,’ she teased. ‘And may the best man win.’

    Despite her earlier flippancy, Cécile spent the morning dreading the moment when the cousins would face each other. The hours passed and the tourney field gradually thinned of competitors. Mouse and Gabriel won their first round, but both were eliminated in their next. Griffith won the squires division.
    Upon Cécile’s knee, Jean Petit gnawed upon a tiny, pine horse that Gabriel had carved for him. The babe was enjoying the noisy rabble and squealed excitedly each time the crowd roared. Cécile looked up and gasped. Riding to opposite ends were Gillet and Armand, just as her husband had predicted.
    Like reflections in a pool, they charged to the middle. The crashing of lances against shields and the wrenching of bodies in saddles suggested that the cousins were not holding back, though each turned in their wake, to ensure the other was well. Armand was awarded the first point. The flag was lowered again and Panache and Inferno thundered across the field. In unison the shields dropped, but Armand dipped his further, a risky move which saw his lance slide beneath Gillet’s. Forced to adjust his own aim, Gillet’s alteration at the last second sent Armand’s lance skimming sideways. There was a loud crack, and a large sliver of wood flew into the air. Armand withstood the jolt but dropped his lance. He drooped over his horse’s mane, gripping his chest.
    â€˜He is hurt!’ cried Cécile as she and Margot leapt to their feet with the rest of the crowd.
    Gillet tore off his helm and jerked Inferno around. Armand waved and Gillet’s attention fell to the broken shaft in his hand. He sent Griffith to collect the splintered piece from the field and trotted to the Marshall’s stand whereupon he dismounted and a heated discussion began. Cécile watched as her husband shook the shattered lance. His gauntlet derisively slapped the thick wad of parchment in the official’s keeping. With Griffith’s arrival the shredded piece of wood was fitted back onto the shaft, removed, and replaced again, with much head-shaking. Gillet looked decidedly unhappy and a young boy was sent scurrying across the grounds, returning moments later with yet another administrator.
    Meanwhile, Armand dismounted and Gabriel, together with the squires, had loosened his breastplate. The women were mortified as Mouse anchored Armand with his knee and Gabriel pulled free a large fragment of wood from beneath his ribs. It was tipped with blood. Armand’s squire retrieved a fistful of wadding to pad the wound and Ramon brought a ladle of water.
    â€˜Your husband is at it again. He must think highly of his competitor.’
    Cécile looked up as her neighbour from the previous afternoon sat down beside her. ‘It is his cousin.’ She smiled. ‘What exactly is my husband “at” this time?’ she asked, bouncing Jean Petit on her knee.
    â€˜Wasting time with the officials, I would hazard to guess.’ The man affectionately chucked Jean Petit under the chin. ‘Giving his cousin more time to recover.’
    â€˜Ah. You are familiar with such tricks? Do you joust, monsieur?’
    He kicked out his foot and Cécile saw the sad, twisted leg. ‘Not since my horse fell on me. In the blink of an eye my livelihood was gone. Luckily,